Bottle
by frankenfeels
Summary: Molly and Sherlock get stuck in the morgue during a lockdown. During the hours that they wait, Sherlock discovers that Molly is far more clever then he has ever realized. From sherlockbbc fic


**Title**: Bottle (or "Molly - when did you get so awesome?")

**Author**: porpoise-song

**Characters**: Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, and an appearance by Dr. John Watson.

**Rating**: Pretty much a G.

**Disclaimer**: Unless I want Weeping Angels and the Crack to follow me (Steven Moffat), umbrella marks on my body (Mark Gattis), red coats storming my place (BBC), and a Victorian Age dressed zombie chasing me (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle), I need to say that I own _absolutely_ nothing.

**Summary**: From sherlockbbc_fic: "_Somehow_ Molly and Sherlock are stuck in the morgue. During the hours that they wait, Sherlock discovers that Molly is far more clever then he has ever realized. He learns that she has written several papers - under a pseudonym - that he has not only read, but used for his research and gained vital knowledge from. She has even proven some theorems in her spare time. He wonders why she has never revealed this side of herself. Molly wonders. why, if he is so observant, he has never deduced who she really is. When Molly asks why Sherlock uses her, and Sherlock asks why she allows him to make snide comments...what happens?"

****Warnings**: **Nothing really; since this is set a few months after the series finale and it involves Molly, there's spoilers for "The Great Game", of course.

**A/N: **Written for anonymous for sherlockbbc_fic prompt. Title comes from a type of TV show episode called a "bottle episode", where the episode is set in one or as little amount of locations. Oh, and yes, I made up the Osterhagen theorem, but not the Navier-Stokes Equation or its prize of a million dollars by the Clay Mathematics Institute.

Basically, as described by CMI, _"Waves follow our boat as we meander across the lake, and turbulent air currents follow our flight in a modern jet. Mathematicians and physicists believe that an explanation for and the prediction of both the breeze and the turbulence can be found through an understanding of solutions to the Navier-Stokes equations. Although these equations were written down in the 19th Century, our understanding of them remains minimal. The challenge is to make substantial progress toward a mathematical theory which will unlock the secrets hidden in the Navier-Stokes equations."_

Anyways, should probably stop with the long-windedness and say enjoy the story!

* * *

><p>The hospital goes on a lockdown. <em>Sighting of Moriarty<em>, John texts him, _General lockdown until the whole place has been secured_. _So glad I did not come with you, by the way._ Sherlock and Molly look at each other, disgust in their eyes, although, Molly must be better at hiding it because the next look Sherlock gives her is one of contempt.

_Oh—like _I _want to be stuck in the morgue with you as well! _She wants to yell at him, but she bites her tongue and they both go back to running tests. Just because the hospital goes on a lockdown does _not _mean there's no work to be done. However, this work only occupies the next ten minutes of their time because, once she cleans up her area, Sherlock is trying to pick the door, with unsuccessful results.

"You won't be able to open that door Sherlock", she tells him, like a mother to her child. "You'll just have to wait for the lockdown to be over like the rest of us."

He flashes her an annoyed look before turning back to his endeavors. She rolls her eyes, also annoyed, and proceeds to draw a crude, but detailed human hand on the back of a manila folder. "That's pretty good", Sherlock's voice startles her as he comes up from behind her to examine her drawing. "Not bad really—I can practically see the detail you gave the metacarpals." He glances at Molly, "I didn't know you could draw, Molly—although, this could be a reason why you're so skillful at cutting up cadavers."

"Yeah", Molly drawls out as she caps the ballpoint pen, "I could do much better, but this pen is absolute rubbish and, fortunately and unfortunately"—she threw the pen at the corner of the table and it bounced into the wastebasket—"it's out." She turns to look at Sherlock and gives him a knowing look, "And there are _lots _of things you don't know about me, Sherlock."

"Oh _really_?" His face takes on a challenged and interested look as he reaches for the other stool.

She lets out a bored sigh, "No, Sherlock, I didn't challenge you to anything and I don't want to play this game"—

"What game?" Sherlock asks her, as innocently as he could and pulls the stool next to her.

"Where you try to discover _everything _about me—I like to keep my personal and professional life separate, y'know." Sherlock shoots her a pointedly look. "Okay, except for that one time, but, as everyone has been telling me for the past few months, it wasn't my fault." She pulls open a drawer next to her, takes out a rather thick folder, lays it on the table, and starts to flip through it. "Now...go away. I'm busy."

"What're you doing?" he asks her. He leans towards her in an attempt to see her folder.

Molly studies him for a moment. "You must _really _be bored."

"Yes. I am", he shrugs. "Damn Moriarty."

"Yes—damn Moriarty", she repeats. "Well", she clears her throat, "if you must know, I'm trying to solve the Navier-Stokes Equation, but I'm having a rather difficult time with it." She scribbles some numbers down and then pauses to study it; the cool, serene look that she usually got when she was studying particularly interesting corpses comes over her face.

Sherlock's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline in surprise and he leans in closer to ask her, in a low voice, "The Navier-Stokes Equation? As in a Millennium Prize Problem? That, if solved, will be worth a million dollars?"

"Yeah", she starts out slowly and erases a mistake. "But, I don't do it for the money or glory—I just like solving problems and expanding the knowledge of mankind. However", she sighs, "I suppose I could do a lot more good if I stopped publishing papers using a pseudonym." She snaps her gaze at him, "And why do you sound so surprised? I'm not one to brag or anything, but, when I was sixteen, I solved the Osterhagen theorem."

"And this is what your personal life consists of—solving theorems and publishing papers under pseudonym?"

"Well, that's not all I do...I play cards with some of the professors from Oxford every Wednesday night and I have tea with the Archbishop of Westminster every Sunday—and you're one to speak!"

Sherlock can't help but roll his eyes at the obviousness of him not having a personal life, "Now we've come to the point of the conversation where I'm forced to ask what your pseudonym is."

"Athena Nijinska", she lazily shrugs. "I wrote about"—

He interrupts her as his face lights up, "The absorption rate of certain chemicals pre- and post-mortem—oh, god, that was brilliant! That was gorgeous!" he exclaims at her. She blushes furiously and her cheeks redden even more when she notices something like pride in Sherlock's eyes.

She smiles at him. "It was, wasn't it? It's just a pity that Jim Moriarty dropped me. We could have had some _real _interesting discussions—especially on his treatise on the binomial theorem and on his book _The Dynamics of an Asteroid_."

"Yes, it is", his brows furrow, "but why have you never shown this side of you to _me _before?"

"Why, Sherlock, with your impeccable and phenomenal skills of observation and deduction, have _you _never noticedthis side of me?" she says dismissively.

A coy smile slowly encompasses his face. "I should have been paying closer attention then."

Although Sherlock's smile seemed strange on his odd and sharp face, Molly can't help but smile as well. "And that, dear Sherlock may be your downfall." She sighs, "In my experience, if you _over_estimate your opponents, you'll never be surprised by their actions and abilities—granted, you'll become deeply disappointed by them and paranoid, as well, but, at least, your disappointed, paranoid arse will be safe."

Sherlock lets out a brusque, sharp laugh and, once again, Molly can't help, but laugh along with him. Once the laughing subsides, Molly slowly says, "Sherlock, since we're, y'know, opening up, and all—well as much as a high-functioning sociopath _can_, I have to ask you something—why do you treat me like you do?" She cocks her head.

An upward curve appears on Sherlock's lips. He plans to turn her question on her and make it seem like his vile actions are _her _fault, not his. "Why do _you _allow me to?" he tells her coolly.

She cocks her eyebrow and it seems like she's going to yell at him, but before she can, her face lights up as an idea flashes through her mind. She leans and asks him, in a low voice, "Lemme answer that question with _another _question—if you had known who I _really _was and what I'm capable of, would you have treated me like that?"

For once, he becomes silent and doesn't particularly know how to respond to that question. He frowns and lowers his eyes to the floor; she smirks, smugly, at him and leans back. The atmosphere of the morgue immediately becomes uneasy. "I suppose I should speak to you, respectfully, and answer, truthfully, from now on", he finally says, slowly and quietly.

"I think that would be for the best." There's a gauche silence for several more minutes, as Molly tactfully avoids Sherlock's piercing gaze, before there's a knock on the door. Molly glances at the door and sees John. "Goodbye, Sherlock", she softly mutters, picks up her items, and leaves.

John enters the morgue and asks Sherlock, worriedly, "Are you alright, Sherlock?" Sherlock doesn't respond. "Are you mad that we didn't catch Moriarty? Look—it seemed like a long shot to begin with and Moriarty cleared off before Lestrade even got here. We're just lucky that he was gone before he did some damage."

"Yes", Sherlock stands up, "I suppose so."


End file.
